


i feel my luck could change

by shocked_into_shame



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Body Horror, Death, Dry Humping, I mean its not gonna be happy but you might still enjoy it, M/M, Monsters, Not A Happy Ending, Possession, Season 3, basically just what i imagine could happen, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-26 15:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: His luck is changing. He knows it. Once he's by the pool, basking in the warm sun day in and day out, he feels free and alive. It eradicates some of the nervous energy rattling through him. It makes him less angry, less volatile. He feels like every day is one step closer to getting the fuck out of here.His luck is changing. It’s gotta be.(An imagining of the events of season three, based off the trailer.)





	1. lucky

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to thank the duffer bros for that trailer today  
> really something else
> 
> i cant shake this from my head so i have to write it. i have a test next week so im not sure of when exactly the next chapter will be written but we shall see. also i'm not sure how long this is going to end up being but whatever.
> 
> there is slight dub-con in this chapter
> 
> i'd also like to thank radiohead for OK Computer, which inspired the title of this fic and my overall mood when writing.

The sting of a needle against Billy’s arm sends a jolt through him and he grits his teeth. He expected it to sting, to pinch, of course, but he didn’t quite anticipate the electric shock of the needle carving its image into his skin. 

 

It’s a good kind of pain. 

 

Before long, he’s proudly brandishing the image of a skull on his arm. Like a medal or a patch it screams out who he is, what he’s done. 

 

He is trying to be better now. School had drawn to a scarily gentle close and he left with a shiny report card of all As and one B+. Neil had gritted his teeth seeing the B. But in the moments after his graduation - after seeing Billy walk with  _ cum laude _ honors - he had still slapped Billy roughly on the back and said, “Proud of you, son.” Susan made a beautiful spread of food for dinner and Billy gobbled it up, graduation cap still on his head. Max had given him a small smile across the table. 

 

It’s the rare moments like these that make him want to change his plans. Make him want to stay, try to see if his dad can be better. 

 

But then the heat rolls in and he feels like he could crawl out of his skin every time Neil so much as looks at him. So he gets a job -  _ lifeguard at the local pool  _ \- and stuffs most of every paycheck under his mattress. 

 

A squirrel fund, his mom would have called it. A way out. 

 

His luck is changing. He knows it. Once he's by the pool, basking in the warm sun day in and day out, he feels free and alive. It eradicates some of the nervous energy rattling through him. It makes him less angry, less volatile. He feels like every day is one step closer to getting the fuck out of here. 

 

His luck is changing. It’s gotta be. 

 

When he strides out of the tattoo shop, arms out in his beat up Metallica shirt, he’s surprised to see that it’s still light outside. He doesn’t want to go home yet. Doesn’t want to spend the rest of his day off holed up in his room, avoiding the judgmental eyes of his dad. 

 

Before he can really consider his options, he finds himself at the Starcourt Mall. Something about that mall draws him in, but some tiny part of himself feels dread in the pit of his stomach every time he pulls into the parking lot. But the part of him that loves it takes over and he strolls through large glass doors. 

 

He could use a new pair of sandals to wear at work. His current ones are beat up, and he leaves every shift with a new fucking callous on his heel.

 

But he walks into Scoops Ahoy instead. God, Steve Harrington behind the counter wearing a tiny little sailor costume is a sight for sore eyes. The first time Billy walked in and saw Harrington working there Steve had flinched like he was getting ready to be made fun of. And normally, Billy would have said something mean, some offhanded comment, but the sight of Steve in that goofy fucking hat made his mouth go dry. 

 

Billy drags his aviators up his face, pushing back his curls to rest his sunglasses on his head. “ _ Ahoy _ , Steverino. What’s shaking?” he drawls, leaning on the counter. Steve doesn’t look particularly impressed. 

 

Things aren’t  _ good _ between them, per se. But they’re better. In the spring semester, when the air was getting warmer and the days longer, they played tennis together (fucking  _ tennis _ ) and it was someone’s bright idea to make them a team. Against all odds it worked, and they dominated, and if Billy’s gaze lingered a little too long on Steve in tiny white shorts then so be it. 

 

So, they have an understanding between them. They see each other around, here at the ice cream shop and by the pool. They are  _ civil _ . 

 

“You got a tattoo,” Steve comments, looking at the skull adorning Billy’s skin. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it almost seems like Steve wants to reach out and touch it.

 

“Yup,” he responds simply, lips popping on the final p. “Like it?”

 

“I mean,” Steve starts, rubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s cool, I guess.” Steve gives him a small smile, then. Billy feels like his stomach is about to drop out of his ass. “So, what can I get for you, today?”

 

“Uh, just a vanilla cone, I think.” Billy reaches into his denim shorts, pulling out his tattered wallet and a couple of bucks. “Listen, my sister comes in here with her friends, right?” 

 

“Yeah, pretty often,” Steve replies, eyes narrowing warrily. 

 

Billy puts down another dollar. “Hopefully this should cover the next couple of orders she makes. Tell her it's on the house or something.” Billy has been thinking about this for a while. He doesn’t want Max spending all of her allowance on fucking ice cream cones. He’s going to tell her, one of these days, to start putting money under her mattress, too. Just in case. 

 

Steve’s brown eyes narrow further. “You know it’s gonna look weird if I buy a 13 year old kid an ice cream, right?” 

 

Billy huffs. He hadn’t thought of that. “Tell her she gave you too much money the last time or something. I dunno.” 

 

Steve nods then, relenting, and hands Billy his cone. And Steve doesn’t need to know that upon exiting the mall, Billy drops the cone in a trash can. 

 

* * *

 

Billy loves work. That’s weird, for him, but he loves it. It gives him an excuse to sit around in the sun all the time. People very rarely need to be rescued. In fact, he’s only dived in after someone one time in the four weeks he’s worked this job. It’s good.

 

His co-lifeguard, Heather, is a sweet girl with a warm smile and a cute button nose. She’s nice and genuine, which Billy likes. Sometimes Billy thinks that Heather has it for him, based on her grin when she sees him and the glances she makes at him from across the pool. Normally he would have jumped at the chance to have a quick fuck, but it feels wrong. He’s not  _ into _ Heather, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. 

 

Trying to be better and all that shit. 

 

Today is particularly hot. The sun beats down on Hawkins, so the pool is more crowded than usual. He spots Max and all her friends from his perch - including one Steve Harrington, shirtless in a pair of tiny swim shorts.  _ Fuck _ . 

 

He knows that he’s really barking up the wrong tree with Harrington. Steve is the epitome of  _ straight boy _ , so Billy knows that he can look but sure as fuck never touch. 

 

Maybe he’s looking a little too much, because Steve gives him a shy wave from across the pool. Billy holds up a hand in a wave and looks away, teeth grinding on the toothpick in his mouth. Once, a girl he was with told him that he had an  _ oral fixation _ . And it’s kind of true - he gets all nervous when he doesn’t have a cigarette or a toothpick or  _ something _ in his mouth. Anything to stop him from saying every stupid thing he thinks. And he thinks a lot of stupid shit. 

* * *

Things are going too well, of course. There’s always the lingering feeling of  _ something’s going to go wrong _ in the back of Billy’s head.

 

His dad’s not happy. A bad day at work, or something. Billy thinks he can get away with a lighthearted comment about Max’s off-key singing in the next room. His dad doesn’t like it, gives him a hard slap across the face for being  _ rude to his sister _ . 

 

Billy has less and less tolerance for being hit by his dad. Maybe it’s the impending freedom that he can practically taste, he’s so close. So he can’t help but storm out of the house, grabbing his keys on the way out. 

 

He speeds out to the mall. He’s drawn to it. Like a moth to a big, shiny, neon beacon.  _ Billy _ it says to him.  _ You’ll be safe here _ .

 

The parking lot is deserted. It’s  _ way _ past closing time, so he parks in the outskirts behind the building. Too fucking hot to sleep in the Camaro. He lights a cigarette and spreads his emergency blanket out on the concrete of the parking light. Tries to get comfortable and fall asleep. The ground is too hard under him. The metal of his mom’s pendant presses comfortingly against his chest. 

 

He keeps thinking about his dad hitting him in the face. It shouldn’t make him so upset. He should be used to it by now. 

 

If he dozes off, he isn’t sure. But he is nudged out of sleep by a quiet squeak. His blue eyes creak open, and he is face to face with a fucking  _ rat _ . 

 

“Shoo,” he whispers, flinging his arm at the thing. It looks at him with its beady eyes, and opens it’s jaw wide. Takes a big fucking bite into his arm. 

 

He yelps in pain and throws the thing off of him. It whimpers and scampers away into the darkness, toward the mall. 

 

_ What the fuck _ , he thinks. He’s too on edge to go back to sleep. Instead, he climbs back into his car and drives aimlessly around town, the wound on his arm  _ begging  _ for a bandage or something. He just lets the blood drip onto his leather seats and waits for it to clot up and scab over. 

 

Something’s not right. He keeps driving around and around, resisting the pull of the mall. He can’t go back there. He just  _ can’t.  _

 

* * *

His arm itches worse than it did when he had poison oak in the fifth grade. But somehow he knows that calamine lotion won’t make it any better. Maybe he should go to the hospital.  _ No, no hospital _ \- comes the big warning voice in his head that will not fucking shut up since he got bit.

 

_ Don’t go to the hospital,  _ it says.  _ They’ll hurt us.  _

Billy doesn’t know who “us” is. He makes do with a makeshift bandage around his forearm.

 

He feels less and less tethered to the fucking planet with each day. 

 

He feels like he could just float away at any moment. 

 

He feels like he has to do something -  _ anything _ \- to get rid of the feeling under his skin. The itch. It itches so bad. He scratches and scratches at his skin, and his scalp, and it doesn’t stop. He scrubs his skin raw under the steam of his shower. It never fucking stops. 

 

He’s at the mall again, staring Steve down from a booth in Scoops Ahoy. He can’t pull his eyes away from him. He wants him so fucking bad. He’s wanted him for months. Billy can’t help but want him. 

 

_ So get him _ , the voice in his head says.  _ If you want him, get him while you can.  _

 

While he can? His head spins at the thought. He can’t fixate on that too long. If he does it makes the itch come back with a vengeance. 

 

Steve’s staring at him straight back. Maybe Billy’s imagining it, but there’s a flush to his cheek. Steve’s lips part. Billy gestures to the door with his head. 

 

He gets up so fast that the blood rushes to his head and he feels faint. He can hear Steve telling that girl he works with that he’s going to take his break now. 

 

He’s not quite aware of what happens between leaving the ice cream shop and what follows. It’s like he’s drunk and stumbling around, barely cognizant of where he is or where he’s going. 

 

But, somehow, he gets to his car. And so does Steve. And he drives them, half aware, out to the woods. Steve says nothing. His eyes are fixed on Billy’s face and his fists are curled up. 

 

_ Do it, kid,  _ the voice purrs.  _ While you still can.  _ There it is again. While he still can. He wants the fucking voice to shut up. 

 

He leans over and crashes his lips onto Steve’s, groaning lasciviously into his mouth. The soft plush of Steve’s lips feels so fucking  _ heavenly  _ against his. He feels like a dying man taking his first gulps of water in days. His fingers tangle up in Steve’s thick hair and he can’t help but fucking  _ pull _ when Steve lets out a little whimper into his mouth. 

 

Billy pulls away, then, Steve’s brown eyes staring deeply into his. “You’re so gorgeous,” he mutters against his will, and then he’s crawling over and straddling Steve’s lap. His cock pushes insistently against the fly of his shorts. 

 

Harrington’s hands come up to grab his ass and Billy leans down for another kiss, sloppy and open. He grasps weakly at Steve’s stupid fucking red tie. He’s groggy with the pleasure of it all, and the itch under his skin builds and builds. But the voice isn’t saying anything, letting him fucking have this. His hips begin grinding against Steve’s and they kiss and  _ grind _ over and over and over until stars dance behind Billy’s eyes and he cries out, tipping his head back. Steve mouths at his throat and groans. 

 

Billy tries to catch his breath but he can’t, his chest heaving. Steve stares at him almost  _ affectionately _ and the gaze makes Billy feel disgusting. He gets off his lap and drives Steve back to the mall in silence. 

 

_ Okay kid, _ the voice whispers.  _ I let you have this. Now you’re going to have to do something for me.  _

* * *

The itch gets worse and worse. He sits under the hot sun at work and feels like it’s burning him alive. It’s doesn’t comfort him anymore. No, it makes him feel like he’s going to fucking die. The sting in his forearm is worse than any tattoo.

 

But the worst part, above the sting and the itch and the sweltering under his skin are the thoughts running through his head. Violent, awful,  _ horrible _ thoughts that he can’t fucking shut up. At first, they distinctly belonged to  _ the voice _ but now he doesn’t know where his thoughts end and its begin. Every person he sees becomes a target. He clenches his jaw and his fists and tries to resist. 

 

Until late one night, after the pool has cleared, and he and Heather are cleaning up before heading out. He could reach out, wrap his hand around her pretty throat and  _ squeeze, squeeze, squeeze  _ until there’s nothing left. Without even realizing it, his hand extends out toward her and she blinks at him in confusion. 

 

He yanks his hand away, panting heavily. 

 

What the fuck. What the fuck. He wouldn’t actually strangle her. Why would he strangle Heather? Why the fuck would he do something like that?

 

_ Why wouldn’t you do something like that?  _

 

His skin is burning up. There’s fire coursing through his veins. He has to take a shower, scrub it away, wash the burn away. 

 

Ice cold water hits him. He presses his face against the cool tile of the shower. The bandage wrapped around his forearm washes away. He stares down at his arm, shaking with terror. 


	2. i live in a town where you can't smell a thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i couldn't resist and already wrote another chapter oops
> 
> it's looking like this fic will be somewhere around 10k, maybe over 4 or 5 chapters. so not super long. we'll see
> 
> go listen to subterranean homesick alien

There are worse things, Steve Harrington thinks, than winding up with a lapful of Billy Hargrove. 

 

Of course, when he put his Scoops Ahoy uniform on in the morning, and tied his red tie, and fixed his brown hair with  _ Farrah Fawcett spray _ , he didn’t think that it would all end up being messed up in the passenger seat of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro. 

 

He tried not to tease the idea of getting with Billy too much, because it hurt a little more than he could admit. He had long-since resigned himself to lingering looks at the pool and short conversations over the ice cream counter. 

 

These feelings - these warm, airy feelings in the pit of his stomach - for Billy Hargrove have built and built and built up. They started with warm spring afternoons, playful slaps on his back with a  _ nice serve, pretty boy _ . He knows it’s absurd when it starts, but he can’t help but indulge himself. There’s so much of Billy to indulge himself in. 

 

Especially now that it’s summer, and the humidity makes Billy’s golden curls puff up around his head. The flash of blue eyes under the florescent light of Scoops Ahoy makes his stomach twist. The golden sheen of his skin as he strolls around the pool.  _ The tattoo.  _

 

And it isn’t just what Billy looks like. It started that way, sure, but it’s grown into this thing that Steve doesn’t want to call  _ a crush _ but sure as hell feels like one. It’s the little things he’s noticed when the warmth of summer rolled in. 

 

Billy’s relaxed shoulders and serene smile sitting at the lifeguard tower. 

 

Buying Max ice cream and not even wanting her to know about it. 

 

Playful remarks and bright smiles when he buys vanilla cone after vanilla cone. 

 

God, Steve is whipped. 

 

So, yes, when he winds up with a blissed out Billy in his lap, straddling his hips with his thick thighs and moaning into his mouth, Steve is  _ not _ complaining. With Billy’s tanned skin glistening and his curls matted down with sweat, head thrown back as his hips grind against the bulge in Steve’s uniform shorts, Steve’s pretty fucking ecstatic. 

 

Even if it does look like Billy is a little out of his mind. 

 

Even if they don’t talk about it afterward. 

 

Even if something feels off in the pit of his stomach. 

 

He tries not to wince when Billy drops him off at the mall without a word.

 

And he tries his hardest  _ not _ to be disappointed when Billy inevitably drops off the face of the earth. 

 

* * *

 

There are lots of things that are there to distract him. His ever-evolving friendship with Dustin and his new friendship with Robin. His job at Scoops Ahoy. Planning for his future and saving money for an apartment. All things that  _ should _ distract him. 

 

He finds himself wandering aimlessly through the next couple of days, letting Dustin tug him along for things the curly haired boy always swears will be fun but never are. Maybe in another life, another time he’d allow himself to enjoy this summer. But he can’t, because his mind keeps flashing images of Billy in his lap, the thick musk of cigarettes and skin around him, and a slightly glassy look in Billy’s eyes. 

 

He avoids the pool like the plague. 

 

Resentment builds up in him over the next couple of days, building up in his stomach until he feels volatile. He hasn’t felt quite like this in a while, like he could snap and go back to the way he used to be, before Nancy and the kids and the Upside Down. 

 

That is until he is awoken from a doze on his couch in the afternoon by the harsh shrill of his phone. “Harrington residence,” he says groggily into the receiver, not quite how his parents trained him to but close enough. 

 

“Steve, this is Max.” Steve perks up a little, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake. “I was just wondering if you had seen Billy around lately? If he came into Scoops Ahoy or anything?” 

 

“Uh, not for a couple of days,” Steve supplies. His mind his transported back to the heat of the Camaro, parked in the woods. “I saw him on Thursday night. He came into the shop. Haven’t seen him since.” Steve leaves out the part where he beckoned him without a word, led him to his car, made him cum in his jeans. 

 

“Shit,” she whispers, and Steve isn’t sure if he was meant to hear it. “He hasn’t come back home since last night. And… there’s something else.” 

 

“What?”

 

“That brunette girl, from the pool? Heather. She, uh…” 

 

Steve huffs in frustration, pushing back his hair. “Spit it out, Max.” 

 

“She was found floating in the pool on her stomach this morning. She’s dead, Steve.” Steve’s throat goes tight as he listens to Max’s voice get shriller and shriller on the other end of the line. “They think Billy did it. They honestly think Billy did it.” It kind of sounds like she’s crying. Steve doesn’t quite know how to process that.

 

He glances at the clock. 12:30 already.  _ Shit, he’s going to be late.  _ “Listen, Max, I have a 1 o'clock shift at the mall today. Come by and we will talk.” 

 

* * *

 

Max strolls in at 2:30. Her hair is frizzier than normal and the skin under her eyes is puffy, like she’s been crying. 

 

“I’m taking my break,” Steve says in Robin’s direction, and she nods. Robin’s good about that kind of thing. 

 

Steve and Max huddle together in a booth. “How you holding up, kid?” Steve asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

 

“I know he didn’t do it, Steve,” she insists urgently, dodging his concern. “My parents are talking like it’s a sure thing. Police officers came to our house today. But I know he didn’t do it.” 

 

Steve looks down at his lap. He doesn’t think Billy would hurt someone like that, not anymore. 

 

But he doesn’t really know him. He doesn’t know what he’s capable of. 

 

“Billy was stashing away money,” Max blurts. “Under his mattress. He was putting it away so he could move. He was doing so much better, Steve. He was so excited about his job, about moving out. He never said anything but I could tell.” Her green eyes bore into Steve’s. She adds, urgently, slamming her little fist on the table, “He didn’t take the money, Steve! Why would he run off and  _ not _ take all the money he had for safekeeping?” 

 

“Do you think someone… did something to him to?” Steve feels sick just asking the question. 

 

“I don’t know. But I know something is wrong. I just know it.” 

 

* * *

 

Steve thinks and thinks and thinks for the rest of his shift. Thinks about all the possibilities, all the things that could or couldn’t have happened to Billy. Wonders if there’s something  _ inhuman _ about this whole thing.  

 

Until closing time at 5:30 sharp. 

 

He closes up and walks to his car in a daze. He is only jolted out of his thoughts by a  _ squeak squeak _ and the pitter patter of something running near his feet. 

 

_ Gross,  _ he thinks.  _ A fucking rat.  _

  
  
  
  



	3. kill me again with love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not sure how i feel about this lol

The rat scurries away, and Steve shudders in disgust. It's not like he's a priss or anything - he's handled far worse in his life - but something about the animal feels unsettling to him. It feels wrong. 

Once he gets home, he eats a bland TV dinner in silence, each breath he takes echoing in the empty expanse of his house. Another night, another meal alone. He'd usually fill the silence with the television or the radio, but he can't be bothered to get up and turn either of those things on. 

There are too many thoughts in his head. Too many possibilities swimming around. 

Sleep that night evades him. Dream after dream washes over him - dreams of monsters and rats, dreams of girls floating on their stomachs in pools, dreams of beautiful boys in his lap whispering sweet nothings into his ear, flashes of golden hair and blue eyes and  _ strong fingers closing in around his throat -  _

* * *

It’s the day before Independence Day, and unlike everyone else in a 10 mile radius he won't be attending the bright beacon of a carnival coming to town. He'll be at work; his boss was  _ insistent  _  upon the shop being open, because if the mall is open then Scoops Ahoy must be open too.

Not surprisingly, the mall is completely dead when he gets there for his afternoon shift. Robin is already behind the counter, looking bored out of her mind as she slumps over, her head resting on one of her hands. 

"Thank God, Steve," she huffs out, leaning back. "I thought you'd never get here. I've been dying." 

"Sorry, Robin," Steve mumbles in response, putting on his hat. 

"Everything okay?" Concern flashes in her eyes.  _ Of course she’s worried _ , Steve thinks.  _ She's never seen me like this.   _ Everything is not okay. Steve has counted the days, hours,  _ minutes _ since Billy was last seen over and over in his head. 

"Yeah," he replies without much heart. "Just some stuff." 

"Is it about your hot friend?" 

Steve's eyes widen. "Who are you talking about?"

"The guy with the dumb tattoo. Billy? The one who they think murdered that lifeguard?" Robin has always had this blunt, no-nonsense attitude. In the past, Steve's appreciated it. Now not so much. 

"He didn't murder her."

"How do you know?" Her stare is almost accusatory. Steve feels naked under her gaze. 

"I-" he starts, his voice dying in his throat. His shoulders slump in defeat. "I guess I don't."

Robin gives him a pitying look. Steve stares ahead at the clock. 

* * *

"STEVE!" Dustin's harsh squeal echoes out as he runs into the shop, all of the other kids plus Nancy and Jonathan in tow. Steve knows that tone of voice all too well, recognizes the underlying panic and terror. God, not this again. Not all of this supernatural, monster-fighting shit. He can't take it, not today.

_ He left his bat at home.  _

"What's going on?" Robin asks, straightening up from her slouched posture. Steve feels a rush of guilt wash over him. Robin doesn't deserve to be roped into all this shit. But he guesses she's going to be whether she likes it or not. 

"There's something wrong," Lucas supplies. Steve notices that he's got Max's hand clutched in his. "We were at the carnival and people started acting so weird, Steve. I can't describe it." 

"Weird how?" 

Mike looks at the floor. "Weird like how Will was when he was possessed. People were walking around with these... dazed looks in their eyes. Like they were seeing something bad." 

"And there were these rats!" Dustin blurts out. Steve's stomach drops to the floor. "All of these rats running around in the parking lot and near the booths and the rides. It was really gross, actually." 

"Wait, back up," Robin demands. "Will was  _ possessed? _ " 

"Yes, get up to speed here, Robin," Dustin responds. "There are monsters in Hawkins, Will was possessed by one, Jane has powers, and now we need to save the world again." 

Robin laughs out loud. 

"No, it's true," Steve supplies, crossing his arms. "So what do we do?" 

He and the kids huddle into a booth, talking about what's happening and what the  _ hell _ they are going to do when suddenly the little bell that signals someone is walking in rings. Steve's head whips around to look. 

Standing in the doorway is one Billy Hargrove. 

Fuck, he looks bad. Steve's eyes move over him, taking in everything. He's wearing a tattered shirt and denim cutoff shorts, bare footed. His curls are wild around his head. And he's so goddamn pale, the paler than Steve ever thought he could be. The circles under his eyes are so pronounced that Steve can see them across the room. 

What strikes him the most is his facial expression. He looks dazed, like he's somewhere else. Like he's lost. 

"Billy, your arm!" Max proclaims, standing up and taking a step toward him. Steve glances down and wonders how he didn't notice that before. His forearm is angry and red, and puffy, dark veins travel down to his wrist and up to his shoulder. 

Nancy finally speaks up after all this time, quietly stating, "He looks like Will did." She doesn’t elaborate any further than that. They know what she means. 

Steve stands up then, too. 

"Steve," Billy finally says in a breathy rush, like he’s only now noticing that Steve is there. And then he smiles wickedly. "Come catch me." 

Steve has no time to process before Billy is off and running. 

Pandemonium ensues, all of the kids running after him with Steve at the front of the pack. Billy leads them down below the mall, into hallways upon hallways of offices and supply closets. Steve knew this existed, but never ventured to see it for himself. It’s creepy down here, sterile under too-harsh fluorescent lighting. It vaguely reminds Steve of a hospital. 

He loses sight of Billy and hunches over, taking deep gasping breaths for air. He turns and notices that he’s also lost the kids somewhere in the confusion.  _Fuck_. 

A warm, clammy hand encircles his arm, and he’s being pulled into an office. Billy stands before him, and close up like this Steve can see his eyes, see how the whites of them have been overtaken by black veins, can see how there is only a sliver of blue around his blown out pupils. 

“What is going on?” Steve demands. 

There’s a flash of something in Billy’s eyes, then. Guilt maybe. He has never looked so young to Steve before. “You’re going to hate me,” he says, so quiet and small. “It’s not my fault, Steve. I couldn’t help it.” 

“Couldn’t help what?”

Billy chokes on emotion, a sob raising in his throat. “You’ll hate me. Promise me you won’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you, Billy.” Steve wants to reach out, run his fingers against Billy’s pale cheek. He wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go. He wants to protect him. “Just please tell me what’s going on.” 

“Kiss me,” Billy begs quietly, his hand clutching at Steve’s bicep. “I’ll tell you. But first, please kiss me.” 

Steve knows it’s a bad idea. But he’s powerless to resist Billy. Maybe in another life he’d stand his ground, refuse. But even like this, pale and sick and confused, Billy is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He leans forward, planting a soft, gentle kiss to Billy’s lips. The second it happens air rushes out of Billy’s nose and his grip on Steve’s arm relaxes. Steve pulls away after a short while, resting his forehead against Billy’s. It’s nice. God help him, it’s fucking  _ nice _ . 

“Oh, God,” Billy mutters, panic clear on his face. “No. No.” 

“What is it?” 

“No. Fuck. No!” 

Steve wraps his arms tightly around Billy’s waist, pulling him into an embrace. Billy buries his neck in the crook of Steve’s shoulder, his whole body shaking. 

“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs. “Everything is going to be okay. We are going to fix-” 

Steve is cut off by his own voice, unable to keep himself from shouting as Billy chomps down on his shoulder, biting so hard he breaks the skin. The blonde pulls away, blood running down his lips and his chin. 

Billy begins to talk, and it’s his voice but also  _ not _ his voice, all hollow and empty. It sends shivers down Steve’s spine as he dazedly brings a hand up to cup the still-bleeding wound on his collar. “I’ve got you now, Steve Harrington.” 

“Billy,” Steve gasps, reaching toward him. “Billy.” He gently grasps at Billy’s hand, and Billy looks at him with an expression that Steve can only interpret as pure evil. It’s not Billy. Even in his worst moments, Billy never looked like this. 

His fist connects with Steve’s face with a sickening crunch.

Steve is only half aware as the group rushes into the room and Robin pulls him away from Billy. “We have to tranq him and sweat it out!” Will shouts as Jonathan attempts to grab hold of the golden haired boy who is laughing and shaking through it all. Steve feels like he could throw up. 

“I have a vial of tranq! Hold him down!” Nancy shouts, but Billy is far stronger than any of them are. He easily breaks free of Jonathan’s hold and is running away before Steve can even try to stop him. Steve fights against Robin’s grip, trying to follow behind. He can’t let Billy get away. He has to help. 

“Jesus, Steve, your  _ neck _ ,” Dustin says in disgust. Steve feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. It's so hot so suddenly, and he can feel sweat dripping from his hands and his face. He’s so, so  _ itchy _ where Billy bit into him, the itch radiating from the wound in his shoulder down to his fingerprints. Robin’s fingers dig into Steve’s arms and he suddenly can’t handle being held here. 

_ Break free, Steve _ .  _ That’s the only way you can get to him  _ echoes in his head. 

“Let me go,” he growls, and his voice sounds foreign in his own ears. “Let me go!  _ Let me go!”  _

He cries out in pain as a needle pierces it way into his neck. His eyes roll back into his head as darkness overtakes him. 

  
  



	4. i may be paranoid but not an android

Billy watches on as his hands move of their own accord, watches as he wraps his fingers around Heather's neck. A scream bubbles up in his throat but he can't make a sound. He's trapped here, inside his own mind, as he watches on in horror, watches himself tug at Heather's throat until her body goes limp in his grasp. Watches on as he drags her body to the pool, his own body dripping wet from the shower.

He's done a lot of bad things in his life. He's hurt people. 

But he's never killed anyone. Never wanted to. He's  _ never  _ wanted to be like that. 

And now it seems he is like that. He thinks of his poor mother resting in her grave, and how proud of him she was. How excited she was for his future. Heather’s body hits the pool with a sickening splash. 

He's losing his grip on himself, being pulled further and further into darkness, feels less and less in control. And yet his body keeps moving, keeps going. Gets in his car and drives, drives away from the pool and the dead body he left there. 

Drives to Steve Harrington's house. 

The voice demands he get out of the car.  _ Go inside, Billy. Go in the house. You can have him again. You know you want to.  _

Some part of him does want to. He wants to knock on the door, crash into Steve's arms the second he sees him. 

But he doesn't trust himself. He can't trust himself, not anymore. 

He clenches his fists and bangs his head against the steering wheel. He wills himself to shift the car out of park and fucking drive, drive as far away as he possibly can. 

He can't move. 

But he wants to get out of the car. Wants to wrap his arms around Steve. Wants to feel Steve's throat in his hands, see how his pretty face looks at his squeezes the life out of him-

That line of thought makes Billy finally fucking move, and he switches into gear and slams his foot on the gas, speeding away from the Harrington house as fast as he fucking can.

He won't hurt Steve. God help him, he won't fucking hurt Steve.

His mind clears slightly and he thinks of driving home. Thinks of picking up all of the money he's stashed away and making a break for it, going back to California. But the thought of going home, happening upon Max and hurting  _her_ makes him sick all over again. 

And the thought of leaving Hawkins is surprisingly hard. Makes the itch under his skin feel worse. 

* * *

It's surprisingly easy to hide in a town like Hawkins. Perhaps the people in this town are as dumb as Billy originally thought. The mall once again calls to him, and it's easy enough sneak down below it during the day, down to deserted hallways and offices.

At night, he drives to the outskirts of town and sleeps in his car. The black veins on his arms spread out further and further. 

He's learned to get used to the itch always there below the surface. 

For the most part, he avoids people as much as he possibly can. Every time he closes his eyes, he thinks of Heather. Thinks of the panic in her eyes as Billy squeezed the life out of her. Thinks of how quickly every spark, every glimmer was snatched from her with his hands. 

At first, moments where the thing inside him takes over are few and far between. But before long moments where he's out of control far outnumber the rare glimmer of elucidation, and even then he feels like the times when he's aware are soft and hazy around the edges. 

It's torture. It's worse than anything he's ever dealt with in his life. It makes him wish for simpler times, makes him wish for times when the scariest thing was his dad. 

Being afraid of his dad was far easier to handle than being afraid of himself. 

* * *

He blinks into realization and sees Steve before him, and oh God his hand is on Steve's arm, and he's in the basement of the mall. He feels sick in the pit of his stomach, feels tears clouding his vision.

At least he's not bad right now. He's confused, and his thoughts are muddled, and his tongue is too big in his mouth, but he isn't bad. 

"You're going to hate me," he finds himself saying. Steve is so good and bright, promises he wont. Promises he won't hate him. But how can Steve make a promise like that? How can Steve promise not to hate him when he doesn't know the darkness in Billy's soul? Doesn't know how evil he is, straight to his core?

Billy begs for a kiss. And when Steve gives it to him, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It's so gentle and warm, and Billy doesn't fucking deserve it. He doesn't deserve Steve's love. He deserves hate. 

He feels himself once again losing grip, and he fights against it weakly.  _ No _ , he thinks.  _ Please don't hurt Steve.  _

He tries so hard. Tries so hard to push down the darkness. But that part of him takes over as he bites into Steve's neck, and once again he is forced to be a spectator in his own body. 

* * *

So suddenly, like jolting out of sleep after feeling like you're falling, falling,  _ falling, _ Billy is back in control. He stands at the end of a long hallway, and that Byers guy -  _ Jonathan,  _ the voice supplies - is staring back at him.

"Where's my sister?" Billy asks. He doesn't know where the question comes from. 

Jonathan says he doesn't know.

Panic crests in Billy's chest. Something is coming, something horrible and terrible and awful. Something he knows he can't come back from. "Find Steve," he begs. "Steve will protect her." 

Jonathan takes a hesitant step forward. The panic builds until it feels like his heart is going beat so hard it comes out of his chest.

And then pain like nothing he's ever felt before radiates through his body, and he screams, screams, _screams_ through it. It feels like every bone is being broken and shifted and healed out of place. His skin is stretched and burned and mangled. His muscles are pulled and torn, moved in all the wrong directions. 

Something bursts out of his abdomen. He grows taller, so tall, and he towers over the hallway, hunching forward to rest his weight on his arms. 

_ Please, let me die. Please, God, please take me now _ . He thinks of the Catholic medallion around his neck. Prays to his mother for her intercession. Prays to every Saint he can remember. It's been so long since he's prayed he can't remember the words -  _ hail mary full of grace the lord is with thee - _

Max runs in and stands near Jonathan, panic clear on her face. “What the hell is that thing?” She's clutching at her stomach like she’s going to be sick. 

"Max, it's me!" he shouts, and a piercing, inhuman scream echoes in the hallway.

And somehow, in the depth of his heart, Billy knows that sound comes from him. 


	5. it barks at no one else but me

Steve wakes with a jolt. He feels like his head is being compressed on either side, his temples squeezed in by some imaginary force, and there's cotton in his ears and his mouth. For a moment, he sits confused about where he is, what he is doing here. His head rests against the rubber cushion of the booth below him, his sweaty cheek fused to the fabric. It stings his skin as he sits up, and he sees the unassuming interior of Scoops Ahoy around him. 

 

And then memories hit him all at once. Billy looking so lost and afraid before biting into his shoulder. 

 

The pain and the itch of something running through him. A sick, evil voice whispering twisted thoughts in his head. The stab of a tranquilizer to his jugular. 

 

The burn of his skin as Dustin dragged his lethargic body to Scoops Ahoy, turned up the heat more and more and  _ more  _ until he couldn't take it anymore. 

 

Max enters the shop, an unreadable expression on her face. 

 

“What's going on?” Steve croaks out, leaning his elbow against the table, resting his weary, pounding head in his hand. “Is everyone okay?” A third question hangs silently in the air:  _ Where’s Billy? _

 

“Janey rounded up all the people in the town who were infected. Brought them to the food court. We turned on the ovens and burned it out of them all. Hawkins is saved once again.” She doesn’t seem particularly excited about this, her arms crossed and a stern expression littering the tiny features of her face. 

 

“And… Billy?”

 

Max scoffs and looks down at her tennis shoes, shaking her head. “Something bad’s happened Steve. I dunno how to…” she cuts herself off. Her voice is thick with emotion. 

 

Jonathan steps in at the right moment. “Steve, I think there’s something you might want to see.” 

 

Steve forces himself out of the booth, his bones protesting with every step. The thin fabric of his Scoops Ahoy uniform clings to his skin. But he lets himself be guided through the mall, guided all the way to the Waldenbooks. 

 

Behind the metal bars that close the store is a horrifying, hideous monster, hunched over, almost defeated. It’s pinkish, its skin like flesh, mangled and angry and inflamed. It howls weakly in their direction, it’s slimy mouth opening to let out the sound.

 

And deep in the pit of his stomach, Steve knows. Steve knows what this is.  _ Who _ this is. There’s no other reason for this hideous thing to still be alive, trapped here like an animal in a zoo. 

 

Steve, Max, and Jonathan sit together on the bench facing the store, gazing on at this beast who continues to scream and scream and  _ scream _ at them. A strange sense of serenity washes over the three of them as they sit, staring at this thing that Steve isn’t sure how to feel about. He’s not scared, not  _ really, _ but disgust twists in his gut. 

 

“What happened?” Steve asks over the din. It’s easier to tune out the screams, sitting across the way from the store. 

 

“Well,” Jonathan heaves a big sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I was wandering through the hallways of the basement looking for Billy. Nancy went to the pharmacy and found some sleeping pills. I wasn’t sure I how I was going to do it but I was ready to take him out. He appeared at the other end of the hall almost out of the blue. He looked so…” Steve’s stomach clenches. “So afraid. So confused, like a little boy who can’t find his mom in a store. Then he, uh,” Jonathan trails off, looking down into his lap. 

 

“Then he what?” Max demands from the other side of the bench, her green eyes fixated on the monster in front of them.

 

“He asked for you, Max. Said he needed to find you. I told him I didn’t know where you were. Then he told me to find you, Steve.” Jon holds his gaze. “He told me you’d be able to protect her.” 

 

Steve lets out a breath of air in one long woosh. 

 

“Then he, uh…” Jonathan gestures toward the monster. “He turned into  _ that _ .” 

 

“Did it seem like it… hurt him?” Max’s voice is quieter, more childlike than Steve has ever heard. Every ounce of fight she may have had left, every ounce of disdain for the situation, for her brother, is released from her body, and her shoulders slump in defeat. His heart clenches in his chest and he fixes Jonathan a sharp look. A look that screams  _ lie if you have to, dammit.  _

 

“No… I don’t think so. Before it happened his eyes kind of rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor. He was out cold. And then he became  _ that _ . He didn’t scream or anything. I don’t think he felt any pain.” 

 

Steve knows it’s a lie. In his heart of hearts he knows it. But there are tears streaming down Max’s face and she squeezes her eyes tight, finally breaking her stare at that thing.  _ Billy _ , his mind supplies against his will. 

 

“I’m glad…” she sighs, wiping furiously at her eyes. “Billy was a lot of things. But he didn’t deserve to turn into that. I’m glad he didn’t hurt.” 

 

“So what’s our next step here?” Steve asks, clinically. He has to shut his heart off, now. He can only use his brain.  _ That is a monster. It is not Billy. It is a dangerous thing.  _

 

“I guess we should figure out if that's still him. And if not then… we have to end it.” 

 

Steve stands, his legs shaking. He steps closer and closer to the Waldenbooks, to the screaming thing in front of him. “Billy,” he gasps out. “Billy, are you still in there?” 

 

The monster stills for a moment, staring Steve down. He edges closer to the metal bars. The mall sits in eerie silence. There’s something behind the creature’s eyes, some kind of indescribable pain. 

 

_ Oh, God,  _ Steve thinks.  _ He’s still in there.  _

 

But then the monster roars, a deafening sound, and tries even harder to escape, shoving its whole body against the bars like a battering ram. 

 

Steve backs away in disgust. Jonathan seems to understand, because next thing he knows he’s radioing for Jane to come down and  _ take care of it. _

 

He can’t watch. He refuses to, adamantly decides he won’t be here for this. He just can’t. But Max is clearly not going to move, is going to watch, and she stares on resolutely as Jane moves to stand in front of it, using her powers to destroy it from the inside out. Steve feels a sense of pride well up at the strength Max is displaying. 

 

And then the screams of anguish begin, the monster howling out, different now, as it holds onto its last breaths. And Max rushes forward shouting in protest. Steve grabs her from behind, wrapping his arms around her as she screams and cries and begs for it to stop. “Stop,” she shouts, fighting against Steve’s hold as much as she can. “That’s my fucking brother in there!” Hot, fat tears roll down Steve’s cheeks and a sob threatens to escape his throat. 

 

Jane doesn’t stop. She knows she can’t. And when the monster - when  _ Billy _ \- breathes his last breath, his body crumpling to the ground, Max collapses along with him, and Steve does his best to be strong, to hold her up, to be a pillar of strength for her and Jane and the rest of the kids.   

 

Even if, on the inside, he’s collapsing too. 

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, years later, late at night in his big empty bed, Steve wonders if he was imagining the look that was in the monster’s eyes. Wonders if maybe Billy  _ was _ still in there. Wonders just how aware Billy was. 

 

Wonders if there was anything else they could have done to help him. To save him. 

 

But it doesn’t help to wonder. Not anymore. 

 

So Steve sits with his memories, and when he closes his eyes to sleep at night he thinks of bright blue eyes surrounded by dark, fanning lashes, and a sly, pearly smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this thing no one asked for. Drop a comment if you liked (or hated) it.


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